


Temples, Dreams, and A Nudge in the Right Direction

by Nehszriah



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Nehs wrote prawns, Smut, accepting!Clara, accidental drugging, admitting feelings, restrained!Twelve, slightly telepathic sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 06:36:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5195858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehszriah/pseuds/Nehszriah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and Clara travel to a planet and do a favor for a local, which prompts them to do something both had been holding back from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temples, Dreams, and A Nudge in the Right Direction

They ran into the TARDIS, phaser blasts following them until the door was shut and the lever that activated the warp drive was hit. It had been a hell of a trip—instead of landing on a quiet, peaceful planet with soft beaches and warm seas, they’d hit something in the time vortex and got thrown off-course. This planet—the Doctor hadn’t even bothered to look at the name on the readout—was in the middle of a civil war, one that the two travelers had landed right in the middle of and nearly died in. Now they were safe, gulping down air as they leaned against the TARDIS console for support.

“Okay, next time that happens, we look before we leap, yeah?” Clara panted. She let herself sink to the floor as she attempted to catch her breath. They had been running more than usual, which to be fair was a lot to begin with, but this felt like it had when Danny signed them up for a 5k run without warning her (any and all further running-related activities had to be checked with her at least two days in advance).

“Yes, ma’am,” the Doctor agreed. As soon as he was sure they were safe within the vortex, he sat down next to her. “You know, I get the funny feeling that I’d been to that planet before, back when it was less dangerous.”

“Different face?” she wondered.

“Yeah, must’ve been; I was alone at the time. Sulking. Not really the sort of me you would want to have around.”

“I can only imagine.” A pause. “What was there then?”

“Something… though now I’ve not the slightest idea,” he frowned. The Doctor began to chew on the side of his finger as he thought. “Over two thousand years and your memory starts to go on you.”

“Absolutely _riddled_ with dementia,” she giggled teasingly. She leaned against his shoulder, exhaling in relief. “Whatever sort of place it was, we’re gone from it now.”

“Gone,” he repeated, not entirely sure he believed the word himself.

* * *

It was next Wednesday, Standard Clara Time, and the human in question wasn’t entirely sure where the Doctor had disappeared to. He didn’t interrupt her during classes, or break in the school at lunch, and she was even allowed to eat her dinner in peace. It wasn’t until she was nearly ready for bed did the TARDIS wheeze into its usual spot in the sitting room, spitting out both Time Lord and a cloud of yellow, foul-smelling, smoke.

“Clara! I remember that place!” the Doctor exclaimed as he struggled to make use of all his limbs at once.

“Good, now are you going to tell me where you’ve been?” she asked. She cracked open the window and let the smoke filter out of her flat. “I was nearly starting to worry about you.”

“I had to do a bit of digging, but I know now why I remembered that planet,” he explained, handing going a mile a minute. “I’d gone there to recuperate after a bad breakup—it was a phase and it took the universe to set things right—and when it’s not warring and killing it’s actually a resort planet! Would you like to have a go?”

“Doctor,” she deadpanned, “I’m in my nightie.”

“That didn’t stop you at Christmas…”

“…and if you _remember_ Christmas, you’ll recall that I spent the following two days shivering in the northernmost sea of some stormy planet with nothing but my slippers, nightie, and your jacket.”

“I do remember,” he said, easing out of his coat. He draped it over her shoulders and stood there, hoodie and holey jumper still providing him with warmth. She was nearly swimming in the garment but he didn’t care. “You look ready to go—come on!”

“I look ridiculous!”

“You look _wonderful_ , now are you coming?”

Clara rolled her eyes and took his hand, wondering if she should start wearing trainers to bed. She allowed him to lead her into the TARDIS and they were then flung through time and space. The planet’s civil war was decades behind them and things had truly begun to heal. The two walked through the forest they’d landed in, hand-in-hand while they investigated the area. It was a boreal forest—or at least the closest approximation to one—with colorful trees of red and orange and green. They only knew they were in a newer part of the forest when the trunks suddenly became massive. The Doctor placed one knobby hand on the ancient tree and closed his eyes.

“What is it saying?” Clara asked. She kicked some dead leaves, glad she at least had enough time to find some discarded trainers in the TARDIS and put them on.

“It says we’re the first humanoids to be here in a long time,” he answered. “Apparently, the war killed off almost all the native population. The younger trees…” His eyes shut as he listened again, placing his forehead against the bark. “…the younger trees we just came from grew in a clearing made during the war. It says we’re welcome provided we make a… pilgrimage of sorts.”

“A pilgrimage? To where?”

“Yes, I understand,” the Doctor told the tree. He bent down and rummaged through the dead foliage on the forest floor and found an acorn-ish seed. After showing it to Clara, he stuffed it in his hoodie pocket and took her hand again. “No one has made an offering to the temple in centuries; we now have to go.”

“What sort of temple is it?” They began walking through the older copse of trees, pressing into his side. “It’s not one of those violent ones, is it?”

“No—it seems that the temple was one that celebrated life, not death. When the locals stopped paying homage, they became greedy and malcontent.”

“Hence the war?”

“Hence the war.”

“The trees… are they sentient?”

“Mildly so; they’re not Fangorn Forest, but enough to believe that homage needs to be made in order to right things.”

Clara mused on that, wondering how sentient that truly was. “ _Should_ homage be made?”

“If anything, it’s manners,” the Doctor shrugged. “Been working on those, you know.”

“…and you didn’t even need to consult your flashcards,” she chuckled.

They kept on walking over underbrush and forest floor until a worn path of grass and dirt opened up to them. The trip became easier after that and they eventually found a large outcrop of rock, in which the entrance to the temple had been bored. Intricate carvings decorated the stone and the wooden door had almost completely rotted away, only leaving a few wayward planks remaining.

“It looks dark in there,” Clara noted, peering down the subterranean staircase. “Why would someone put a temple regarding life down there?”

“Almost everything relies on the ground, to some degree,” the Doctor said. He held out his arm, offering it to his companion. “Ready?”

“Sure,” she replied, taking hold of his elbow. They began their descent, finding that the steps were miraculously dry and sturdy. Luminous mosses and mushrooms gave them light as they pressed on, glowing around them in soft shades of green and blue. The plants and fungi partially obscured wall carvings and covered statues, wildly over-gown in the deep, dark place.

Before long the staircase opened up and a large hall was spread out before the visitors. Columns sat half-set in the walls, decorating them grandly. Two reflecting pools of water ran along the length of the room, silent and still, while an altar sat at the very end atop a tiered dais. The Doctor and Clara walked between the pools and towards the stone altar, careful not to slip on any of the foliage, lit or otherwise.

“Here,” he said, taking the acorn from his pocket. He handed it to her and motioned for her to make the offering. She did, cautiously scaling the dais and placing the acorn on the altar, and came down again. They then glanced around, taking in the sight before them.

Picking up a discarded, mossy figurine, Clara held the statuette in her hands and knitted her brow as she studied it. “This thing looks familiar. Are we on Earth somewhere?”

“No, and I’m pretty sure this planet was colonized by near-humans, not your branch,” the Doctor said. He moved in close and looked at the object she was holding. “That’s a fertility goddess—it makes sense given this is a temple dedicated to life.”

“How can you tell that?” she scoffed. “It could just be that a good life means a bit of paunch.”

“Clara, _I_ have a bit of paunch. This thing has full breasts and an engorged stomach, not to mention an exaggerated genital area.”

“Alright, alright, I get it.” She moved the statuette out of his reach and gave his stomach an affectionate pat. “Let me put it back before we go, considering this trip is about manners.”

“If you insist,” he said. The Doctor watched as she walked over to an empty plinth and carefully set it down. She stared at it for only a moment before a sour sort of mist began to spurt out from underneath the figure. It spread rapidly, enveloping the two before they could find their way out. They ran in an effort to escape choking in it, holding hands and avoiding falling into the reflecting pools or running into the walls. By the time they made it out into the open air, the suns were beginning to set, painting the sky a myriad of colors.

“ _Shit_ , what was that?!” Clara gasped, breathing hard.

“I don’t know,” the Doctor admitted. He popped on his sunglasses and ran a scan on her. “Well, your systems look normal, so it wasn’t a booby-trap meant to kill.”

“If it wasn’t meant to kill, then what was it meant to do?”

“Who knows,” he replied, coughing out a bit more of the mist. The inside of his lungs felt coated with the stuff; he could only imagine how Clara’s were at the moment. “Come on—sooner we get back to the TARDIS, the sooner we can double-check in the medical bay.”

“Good idea,” she agreed. They made the trip back with their arms linked and their steps light, not wanting to be in the forest when the suns were completely gone for the night. After a stop at the tree that sent them on their quest to begin with, they reentered the TARDIS and launched themselves back into the vortex before maneuvering through the corridors to the medical equipment.

Without a word, Clara sat down on the examination bed as the Doctor pulled out a bunch of more complicated scanners than his glasses were. While the sonic could only scan certain vitals with limited programming space, the machines in the medical bay were built for breaking down everything going on inside one’s body. He punched in some numbers and ran the scanner over Clara.

“Huh.”

She didn’t like that response. “What?”

“It says everything’s pretty much normal,” he replied. The Doctor scanned his own body and compared the readouts. “The only thing that seems to be off is that there’s a trace chemical in our bloodstreams, but it’s one that seems benign in nature. My bet is that it’ll filter out in a couple of hours.”

“So the chemical was something in that mist?”

“Most likely,” he affirmed. “If it wasn’t in the mist, it was in the general air of the planet—it’s in a low enough quantity to be just an atmospheric anomaly.”

“What does the chemical do?”

“To be honest? Not sure.” The Doctor scratched his head as he puzzled over the readings. “Go ahead and get some rest; I’ll see what I can make of it and we can go someplace better when you wake up.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Clara grinned. She slid off the bed and kissed the Doctor on the cheek before leaving the room. He stared at her, watching her walk out into the corridor, his cheek burning and a weight dropping in his gut.

‘ _Oh no…_ ’

* * *

The TARDIS must have been feeling generous that evening, because Clara found her room after only three turns of the hallway. She always liked the bedroom the ship kept for her, because somehow it felt more like home than her flat did. One whole wall was full of books, the shelves stacked so high that it came with a ladder that slid from side to side, even curving around the corner to meet the other half-wall of shelves lined with voluminous tomes. A large bay window sat open to a simulation of various landscapes—a stormy seaside today—lush plants were strewn about, knick-knacks and mementos from some of their trips were displayed in a smaller shelving unit, and her bed was over-sized and over-fluffed. She kicked off her shoes near the table that held some old papers she had been going over and shuffled over towards the mass of pillows and blankets that awaited her. Everything was warm and cozy, with the thunder and sea spray lulling her into sleep.

Except, when she closed her eyes, the dream she began to have was anything but peaceful. In it she was captured by a race of overly-large bipedal insects that had her bound and gagged in an abandoned Earth warehouse they were using as a base of operations. She struggled against her bonds, unable to move, unable to scream, unable to do anything. The aliens were talking in a language she didn’t understand, half wing-rubbing and half antennae-feeling. Fear gripped her, tears running down her face.

Just then, another alien appeared. This one, however, was one she had wanted to see. It was the Doctor, her grey-haired alien stick-insect, blasting his way through her captors. He was brandishing a stun-gun, obviously, as the insectoids soon lay twitching and complaining about their lack of mobility. At least… she _thought_ that’s what they were doing. The Doctor came up and freed her, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her out of the warehouse, directly into the TARDIS. Somehow the console room morphed into her bedroom and he laid her down in bed. He reverently knelt down next to her, taking her hand and leaving light kisses up her arm. A chill crept through her body and he grinned at her, his eyes dark and hungry…

A particularly loud bolt of thunder from the seascape woke her up, finding that she had broken into a cold sweat. Why did she just have that dream? Frankly, it was tame compared to others she’d had concerning him, but wasn’t she the one saving the Doctor half the time? And what about that bit with him carrying her? He probably _could_ , given his stature, but she’d never thought about it before. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and checked the clock—she’d been asleep maybe an hour? Two? However long it had been, Clara felt that she needed to go talk to the Doctor and see if he found out what the chemical was in their bloodstream. If he said it was a hallucinogenic she wouldn’t be surprised. That’s what mysterious temples were known for, right? Right.

When Clara finally found the Doctor, more questions were instantly raised than answered. He was sitting in the library, curled up on one of the couches that rested in the room. His hood was pulled up and drawn tight and he was scrunched into a ball, facing the inside of the couch and rocking slightly. She could see his boots discarded halfway into the room, exposing his brightly-striped stocking feet. As Clara crept closer, she could hear him murmuring something that sounded like equations, though she wasn’t too sure.

“Doctor…?”

“Go away, Clara!” he demanded, pulling himself in tighter. Instead she sat down on the edge of the couch cushion, leaning over him to see what was wrong. “ _Go away!_ ”

“Are you alright?”

“No—I know what that chemical is now and you need to _leave_ ,” he said, low and… terrified? Yes, he was terrified. Whatever it was he discovered about that chemical, he didn’t like it at all.

“Don’t worry—I know it’s a sort of hallucinogenic,” she said, trying to ease his mind. “I just had a bizarre dream myself and had come to tell you about it…”

“Later, Clara!”

“Are you crying…?”

“You need to leave!”

“Not until you tell me why you’re so terrified!”

There was a long silence between them, the only sound being the distant thrum of the TARDIS in-flight. Eventually, the Doctor sat up, trying not to look at Clara with his wet, red eyes. His hood was still up and his hands were folded in his lap; he looked a wreck.

“I’m glad it’s just a benign hallucinogenic for you,” he said, voice cracking. “It’s working a bit differently in me, and would have worked differently for the natives of the planet.”

“How differently?”

“That temple was a shrine to life itself, and the idol you found was a fertility goddess—I’m fairly certain that mist was supposed to be… an aphrodisiac.”

Everything clicked into place and immediately Clara understood. She pulled the Doctor’s hood off his head, watching as his grey fluff of hair bounced up unrestricted. He definitely had been crying, though not heavily, and his already-heavy-lidded eyes seemed even more strained.

“You’ve been… having thoughts about me?”

“I’m sorry Clara, but I—”

“No, no, no… don’t apologize yet,” she said, cutting him off. “When did they start?”

“When you kissed my cheek earlier,” he blushed.

“I had that part figured out,” she deadpanned, folding her arms across her chest. “I meant _before_ this mess of a trip happened. An aphrodisiac best works if there’s already something there, and you’re not the sort of man to just have a feeling appear out of nowhere.”

“Since… before I changed,” he admitted. “I’ve been careful about it because I know I’m going to lose you, and it’s going to kill my hearts. Whenever I get too involved with a human, whether it’s friendship or something else, I tend to lose myself and forget how awful that pain feels.”

“Yet we still do Wednesdays,” she mentioned.

“I’m a dirty old man—can you blame me for wanting to see your smile?”

“You may be an old man, but you’re only…” Clara stopped and frowned at herself, trying to think of the correct word.

“…you were going to say ‘ _human’_ ,” the Doctor said. “That’s the one thing I’m not, no matter how hard I try, no matter how hard I believe. You need another man like Danny—one that you can have children with—that’s something I know you want, but I’d be unlikely to give.”

Hearing him say Danny’s name made her snap her gaze towards him. “What makes you say that?”

“…because I was one adventure and he was the other,” he replied quietly. “It was obvious. You wanted a home life, career, children, and Danny could offer you that. I was the explorer part of your life; a rush you couldn’t bear to lose. Even if I could stay in place for long enough, we’re not genetically compatible to the degree where I can guarantee children. We’re as good as sterile.”

“There are other ways to be a mum and dad, you know,” she said. Gently, she picked up one of his hands and held it in her own, ignoring how he tensed the one still remaining over his lap. “We can make it work, if we want to.”

“…but do you want to with _me_?”

“Of course I do, you thick-headed idiot,” she laughed weakly. “Do you remember Christmas, when I said that there was only one other man I could have married?”

He nodded, cautiously.

“I meant it then, and I mean it now. I lo…” She caught herself and bit her lower lip. “I am more than willing to be with you, hold you, find disastrously adorable space-ragamuffins to adopt with you…”

“…but I…”

“You need to remember what it’s like, I think, because we mayflies live our lives and you need to be reminded of the happy things in life, as well as the sad.”

“How did you…?” he marveled. The Doctor shook his head, chasing the idea from his mind. “No, that’s not important. What _is_ important is _you_. Are you sure about this?”

“How many times do I have to tell you? _Yes_.”

“Oh Clara, my Clara,” he crooned, an intense weight lifting from his shoulders. He took hold of her face and dove in for a kiss, still hesitant and restrained, but relieved.

“Hey, let’s take this to somewhere a little more comfortable than the library couch,” she suggested, side-eying the studs set into the upholstery.

Standing up, she held out her hand towards the Doctor and he willingly took it. She led him out into the corridor and down to her room. The sea storm was still playing in the window as she brought him through, stopping next to her bed. When the Doctor’s hands proved to be too shaky to unzip his own hoodie, she gently helped him along.

“I feel like a fool,” he muttered, unable to look at her.

“Don’t be,” Clara said. She eased his sweatshirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the ground. “You’ll be fine… I mean, you’ve been married before, and you had to have had at least _one_ child if you traveled with your granddaughter all those years ago.”

“It’s just… it’s been a long time,” he sighed. The Doctor took his hands and used them to lightly cradle her head. His eyes, grey-blue and stormy as the false sea in the window, seemed so warm and inviting, yet only so for her. This was her man—her weary, nervous, merciful man—and he was so bared and open to her that the best thing she could do for him was to lead the way.

“I can understand that,” she murmured. She turned her head slightly and kissed his palm. “Don’t worry; I’ve got you.”

They continued to work on their clothing, peeling off layer after layer. Jumper, t-shirt, nightie, trousers; with each new bared stretch of skin the Doctor began to blush more and more. He’d seen her in a bikini before, so the sight of her in a bra and panties wasn’t scandalous, but knowing that _he_ was also undressing and the bed was right there… it wasn’t a surprise when he pulled off his trousers that his erection was tenting his pants.

“Alright, get in,” Clara commanded once he was done peeling off his socks. He pushed aside the blanket and laid down, head resting in the mound of pillows she kept. She then climbed atop him, straddling his waist and towering over him. “Ready?”

It was all he could do to nod.

Leaning down, Clara kissed the Doctor again, sliding her tongue into his mouth and rocking against him. As their skin touched it was like an explosion of emotions and thoughts in the Time Lord’s head. The aphrodisiac was kicking in for real now, making him sway in-time with her and allowing his hands to start roaming her body. Her back, her arse, her waist, her covered breasts… he unhooked the bra clasp with one hand, using the other to take it off her in one swift movement.

“There you are,” she giggled, moving down to his neck. She moaned happily as his hands cupped her now-bare breasts, caressing with long fingers calloused from tinkering. Moving her own hand, she went down his thin, spare chest to feel what he had still hiding underneath his ridiculous question-mark pants. He gasped as she did so, squeezing her in subconscious retaliation.

“Okay, let’s go,” he wheezed. The Doctor began to shimmy out of his pants as Clara took care of her own. There they were, completely bare before one another, him with a lanky, pasty body and awkward stiffie, and she, if he were bold enough to declare, a universal picture of perfection, aphrodisiac or no.

Getting back into position, Clara rubbed herself against the Doctor, teasing him and working him up. His hands began to move again, ghosting over her thighs until he found her wet between the legs. Thumb on her clit, he dug two fingers into her and received a satisfied hiss in his ear.

“Naughty.”

“I try.”

A few minutes of flexing his fingers and exploring her internally and he pulled out, hearing the tiny moan that came with it. He then took himself in-hand and guided him in her, both inhaling sharply as he did so. She leaned upright and settled down on him, letting the moment sink in. They were now one, with her clenched around him and him an overspill of raw emotions that he tried to rein in. Everything crept into her mind anyhow, their bond being too strong to keep the pleasure private.

It was like white and gold, bright and glowing and sensual. Tingling skin and held breath. The words that Clara had prevented herself from saying aloud came in clearly as their minds began to mingle and swirl and meld until the boundaries were too fuzzy to discern.

_I love you_.

She then began to set the pace, slow at first, but easing faster and faster as she worked the man laying under her. That’s what he was, despite his survivor’s guilt and knack for getting them into the zaniest situations. He was a man with needs, just as she was a woman with needs, and their need was for one another. His fingers splayed out as he held her hips and thighs, nails threatening to leave marks as he held tighter with each progressive thrust. He started bucking out of rhythm and she knew he was near completion. Clara was too, in all honesty, but she could only hope that he lasted long enough for them to come close enough to where it wouldn’t be a problem. Frantic now, she nearly pounded him into the mattress, wondering when they would break.

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind when the Doctor threw his head back and gasped her name, pulsing inside her as he released everything. Her own eyes closed and her mouth rounded into an O as she rode his waves, bringing her to her own. It was only after they were done did she realize that she’d been holding her breath, collapsing almost dizzy in his arms.

“Hey,” he mumbled against her hair. He was still inside her, softening, not wanting to part just yet. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. She began to trace small circles on his chest, playing with the sparse hair that was as grey as his head. “You?”

“Afraid I’m going to wake up,” he chortled. They both laughed and something crossed his mind. “Wait, you never told me about the dream you had earlier.”

“Oh, it just seemed the start to one of those pesky sex dreams,” she replied nonchalantly. She pulled away and began fussing with the blankets, covering them both so that they could lie and listen to the calming sea in comfort. “It was just weird because you were acting rather not-you in it, carrying me to my bed and all.”

“You had sex dreams about me?” he asked, astonished.

“Did you have them about me?” she fired back. The blush that instantly overtook his face was answer enough. Clara turned him on his side and hugged him from behind, taking delight in how good he smelled. “Good night, Doctor. In the morning, we go on another adventure.”

“…to the jeweler’s?”

“If that’s what you want, then yes.”


End file.
